Clear Cut Love
by MOFOSTAN
Summary: Six South Park High students, six parings. All of them yaoi and yuri. All of them, onesided. Will their love be returned? Please let their feelings be reached. Let their love be clear cut.     Stutters, Kyman, Webe, Crenny, Stolovan, Twophe
1. Stutters Intro

My name is Leopold Scotch, but everyone calls me "Butters". If you met me, you'd think that this was probably expected. Since I'm considered "feminine", or "cute", or even "naive", I was always teased and called gay. What you wouldn't expect though is who I like. Who I fell deeply, head over heels for.

He's kind and sweet, yet apathetic and sarcastic. He's gentle yet badass (as he would say). There are times when his eyelids flutter whenever he is flustered. He's an average boy, a great friend, a sure and fair being. He's just and built on common sense. He's based on reality, neither optimistic nor pessimistic. To me he's like a treasure so bright it swells you heart just to stare. I feel so fortunate to be in his presence, so pure and so surreal. Despite that, I feel greedy and impatient. I want to spend every minute with him; I want him all to myself. My greed and selfishness is an odor that stretches from day to night. His dazzling charms dance in my head constantly; in my dreams and in my waking hours.

His name is Stan Marsh.

Unfortunately, he's in love with Wendy Testaburger. I don't resent her, though. It's noticeable why. She's kind and tough, sweet and defiant. She strives with everything and tries so very hard at everything she does, yet she also knows which battles to choose and retains from them with utter grace and eloquence. Unlike his best friend Kyle, who doesn't know the meaning of letting go. He charges and is pure passion and defiance. I can see why Stan would love her, and want to hang out with his super best friend.

Despite that, I still want him all. Though I know I can't ever have him. He wouldn't look at someone like me. Someone so lost and unsure. Someone so odd and stale. I don't leave room for personality, like a dormant mat or a pile of play dough; I am stepped on for support and molded for convenience. Though I don't mind. I really don't! As long as I help others, I'm fine with being their support and stepping stool. While others are meant to strive and flourish, I think I'm meant to forever be a step in the stair to success, never a contestant. It's fine with me, as long as I complete this purpose, as long as I get to see his smile untainted and pure.

I don't mind.


	2. Kyman Intro

My name is Eric Theodore Cartman, but everyone calls me Cartman. If you met me, you'd probably think that I was a racist, egotistical, prejudice, self-righteous, unjust, hypocritical, rude, ill-mannered, crude, vulgar, narcissistic, annoying, dickhead, asshole, son of a bitch. Well you're right, and worst of all, I'm absolutely proud and I flaunt this attitude. If you met me, you wouldn't probably want to run into me ever again. That's fine. I don't want to run into your scrawny ass too. You probably expected I could be gay and in denial, all my friends joked about that anyways. If I can call those assholes my friends. I used to dress up as a girl when I was little, on various occasions. I used to make obscene and unadulterated pranks and bets with others. Some would call it faggy, well they can just suck it.

What you wouldn't expect is who I was gay for. He's a pain in the fucking ass, a defiant little piece of shit. He's annoying and self-righteous and spreads constant believes that he considers just. He thinks he's always right and when he's wrong, he won't fucking admit it. He's a lying, sneaky being. Just ask his ancestors. He's also like fire. He's passionate and unforgiving. He's graceful and sturdy. His eyes look like he's in constant war. Like he's waiting for a fight any minute. Always on edge. So adorably defiant. He's also kind and sweet (not to me though) and easy to trick. Innocent and pure, intelligent and bluntly honest. Despite the fact you couldn't trust your money with him, you could very well trust your life. He's like fire.

His name is Kyle Broflovski.

Unfortunately, he's not gay. I may joke he's gay for that faggy, emo-jock pussy, Stan, but I know he's not. Stan and him are tight, but not that way. Stan's obsessed with that stupid bitch, and Kyle… well he's single but is very well in tune with the opposite sex. Let me tell you something about that sneaky Jew, he's a stud and knows it. He flaunts it, even though he pretends to be modest. He wants to play innocent and pretend he doesn't know why the girls drool over his fine ass, but we all know he just loves the attention.

He's had quite a few girlfriends, but I doubt he's gone far with any of them. He's too much of a goody-two-shoe to do that kind of shit. Though he knows how to kiss and all the girls (besides the chosen sane) rave about it. He's not a whore, like some poor/welfare ass blondes, but all the girls wish he definitely was. Despite their hopes, he's a decent person and a giant prick. So arrogant and pompous, like someone crazy glued a stick up his ass. So fucking anal, that Jewish piece of shit.

Though I can't stop glancing his way, or turning scarlet at the sight of his flushed, raging face. I can't stop day dreaming of his furrowed brows, or his sideways glare, or even the way his voice breaks and shrieks when he's so angry he starts to scream at me. I can't stop looking at him when he's so calm and reading. Like a porcelain figurine or a painted picture, so calm and peaceful. So focused and observed. And I know he wouldn't look at me. I'm his nightmare, his thorn in the ass. I'm just the asshole who ruins my day. The prick who won't leave. I'm not his type, even if he was gay. I'm too pathetic for his passionate, green orbs. I'm just an observer, and I'm fine with that. A distance between us is alright. It would end badly anyways. And this way, I can still love him, in a distance. I can stay with him, forever, without putting us in jeopardy.

I don't mind.


	3. Webe Intro

My name is Bebe Stevens, but just call me Bebe. If you met me you'd probably think this was the last thing to happen to me. I'm not a whore, but I'm not a prick either. I'm just a normal, go lucky girl who happens to be popular with the opposite sex. I don't go around with every guy. I just did it once, and I'll never do it again or at least for a long time. It was a horrible experience, but anyways, I like guys. I still like guys. I will ALWAYS like guys. I'm not attracted to girls, at all. I mean, I can say some girls are pretty, and I can see why guys would drool, but I'll never see them that way. Well, until I noticed this one beauty.

She's kind and sweet and pure and gentle. She's strong-willed and has a very strong voice. She will speak and express she believes without hesitation, without a beat to miss. She is clever and witty, and with one flick of her dark raven hair, she sends all those around her in awe. She's filled with utter grace and eloquence, so elegant, so admirable. She's stunning and fulgent, vivid and intense. She can break you with one glance and build you with another. Nothing can break her, nothing can make her stray. She's defiant, but she knows when to be and when to stay down. She's all about strategy and she's reserved and intelligent.

Her name is Wendy Testaburger.

Unfortunately, she's in love with Stan Marsh. I can't see it though. He's boring and follows her like a stray dog. He whines constantly, he ignores her. He's immature and he's the reason she comes crying to me at some nights. He's always with Kyle, barely with her. He's either talking about how annoying something or someone in this town is or he's talking about football, Kyle, or showering Wendy with hollow compliments. He doesn't deserve her; he's either ignoring her or is too clingy. He doesn't even open the doors for her, and he doesn't understand her one bit! She's so intelligent and profound and whenever she tries to start an elevated conversation with him, he shoots her down and talks about something stupid. I may not look it, but I'm profound as well. I can talk to her about anything. I brush up constantly on politics and hot topic debates, just so that when she feels lonely and inspired she can come to me. I want to make her smile; I want to make her shine bright with glory.

I stare at her way constantly, just to catch a whisper of her beauty. Like when she reads, she shows exactly what the feeling of the book portrays. She smiles and cries, she even laughs when she reads. Oh and her laugh is like the trickling symphony of a harp. So soft and define, yet so clear and pure. No annoying cackles, no snorts; just a symphony. She also pouts whenever she is doesn't get what she wants; it's the only thing that she shows weakness. The only things, besides Stan. Whenever he hurts her, she looses it all, she brakes. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. She looses all sense and she goes on impulse. She's not herself, and she suffers. If she left him for good, I wouldn't mind. If only she would go with someone who loved her, who cherished her. I'm not going to say that I wouldn't care if she didn't end up with me, I'm not fooling anyone. Yet, if she found someone that made her smile everyday, I wouldn't mind.

I don't mind.


	4. Crenny Intro

My name is Kenny McCormick, but your fine ass can just call me Ken. If you'd met me, you'd probably think this was the last thing that can EVER happen to me. You see, I'm a ladies man, big time. Despite my hood blocking the babes, it still takes in a lot in as well. I tell the chicks that I'm lost and alone, that I wear this hood to hide myself because I feel so insecure, I tell them I only show my face to the people I can trust the most. Then when I want some action, I show it to them and watch their face melt at my sexiness and their eyes lust over. They all know it's a God damn trick, despite that, they still fall for it. Dumbasses.

Though lately, I've been acting weird. I haven't been scoring chicks, at all. Which by the way is highly unusual for me. You want to know why? You see someone caught my eye. They have been around me for the longest time, but I have just suddenly noticed them. I think I've fallen in love, shit. I fucking HATE this, and you know what's the worst part? He's not a fucking girl! This doesn't make sense, you see I'm still hot for the ladies, but I'm desperate for him. I can't stop thinking about him, at all. It's driving me insane! His dark ebony hair, his dull monotone eyes. Yeah, I know I just gave his identity away. It's pretty obvious after I said monotone, which is the one word to describe him. So stoic, yet so interesting.

His name is Craig Tucker.

Unfortunately, he's not gay, and he's a chick magnet like me. God knows why! He just flips them all off, yet he probably scores more chick than I can ever hope to. He treats them all like trash, blows them off for RED FUCKING RACER, and laughs when they confess their love to him. He's an asshole. Yet, I can easily see why they can be attractive to him. He's so serious, like a picture. So calm and still. His annoying responses make you intrigued. And those rare moments of genuine, non-cocky, non-arrogant smiles are like bliss to watch. I couldn't stand it if he changed. So at that point, I can see why they would go after him, I can definitely see how fine his ass is and how fine his pecks are (yeah I watch when he changes in Physical Ed.). I can also see how sweet he can be to his friends.

Craig Tucker sweet? Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but it's true! I've seen it. Like when Tweek lost his thermos for a week. Tweek found a new thermos in his locker, and I saw Craig put one in during class hours. Or when Token's girlfriend dumped him, he humiliated her at lunch with the excuse that she was trying to seduce him. Or like when Clyde was crying that he got an F in physics, he now buys him a taco every time he gets anything higher than a C. And you know, I don't mind that he's an asshole. Or that he's not gay, or that he's a dull prick. I don't care that he doesn't notice me, or if my feelings never reach him.

I don't mind.


	5. Stolovan Intro

My name is Clyde Donovan, but unless you're a Melvin, you better call me Clyde. If you met me, well I don't know what people think of me really. So I wouldn't be able to predict if you'd be surprise or not. What I can tell you is what I think of myself. I think I'm hot, and I think I'm awesome. I don't exactly get any girls… well unless they want shoes from me, but I'm pretty sure I'm a stud. Mostly cause in elementary the girls made a list of the cutest boys and I was number one! Besides that, I can be a bit… emotional. Not a crybaby! Just sensitive. I was in the football team, but because of my sensitive way… I was kindly removed out of the program. Despite that, I never thought I could turn out… gay. Especially not for the nerd I fell for.

He's a nerd, such a fucking NERD! I mean, he doesn't only study ALL THE TIME, but he's OBSESSED with Star Wars. I mean, it's not that big of a deal to me; I only saw the 2nd and 3rd movie. I'm more of an Indiana Jones fan, but kind of trailed off it because of the George Lucas/Steven Spielberg incident. Poor Indiana Jones…. Anyways, he's a scrawny little thing too. Sticks and bones, doesn't work out at all. He's also a know it all and very awkward. Not mention he works hard when no one is looking, and he furrows his brow and pouts his lip whenever he's really concentrated. He tries to fit in and please others without asking anything in return. He's quiet and doesn't bug anyone, and although he can be arrogant, he's too full of pride to admit his weaknesses. He's like a proud figurine. So still and sturdy, yet so gentle and elegant.

His name is Kevin Stoley.

You know there should be a law for punishment on force infatuation. Remember when I said he tries really hard to fit in, he also tries really hard to stay out. It's confusing, I know, but it's true. He works so hard to fit in, but once he sees a glimmer of hope, he gets scared and withdraws. There's no hope for him, at least if he keeps this up. Yet, despite how much I observe him, I can never figure out if he's gay or not. He shows no interest for either. A girl or guy coming on to him (and surprisingly both has happened) has the exact same effect on him. Apathy. So maybe I shouldn't put my foot in. Maybe I shouldn't blindly attack, like I usually do.

Maybe he's out of my league.

It's a weird concept to grasp. I mean, I should be out of his, yet he has so much more going on. I can't compare to his light. All I have is brawn, sexiness, and a cocky grin. He has so much more going on. Intelligence, looks (believe it or not), eloquence, charm. The flicker of his lashes when he glances up. The roll of his maroon eyes, and the stroke of his jade black hair. His skin smooth and his voice light and satin. His laugh is so silly. He snorts and cackles and blows out in giggles. So cute. He's so cute. So if I can't reach his league, then as long as his league is shining with brisk confidence, as long as he is blunt and considerate. As long as he keeps contradicting, I don't mind.

I don't mind.


	6. Twophe Intro

My name is Tweek Tweak. I.. um… shit. You know, what if you don't like reading this shit. What if the author of this gets in trouble with you because she couldn't capture my character… FUCK! I hate this. I hate life. I hate everything. Sometimes it's just too much. Everything is too much pressure, and everything is a danger. A hazard. Especially this. I think the government tapped into my mind. Maybe they are trying to control it with this… feeling. No, I won't say it. I can't, it's… it's too much. What if my heart beats so fast it bursts? Jesus Christ… I COULD FUCKING EXPLODE FROM A BURSTING HEART. It's so surreal. I hate this. I definitely hate this. It's pissing me off. I think… okay, here it goes: I think, no I KNOW I'm in l… I'm in love.

His name is Christophe De Lanore.

He's French. French, French, fucking French. How can I fall in love with a guy who has a THICK French accent? Sometimes I can't even understand him. I mean, it's like talking to someone who occasionally speaks gibberish. At least that's how French sounds to me. That's how any language sounds to me. I don't get it when people say that French is the language of love. It doesn't sound romantic. I sounds like a bunch of sounds put together, like any language. Even English. Yet, I think it's the voice that depends on how the language is portrayed. It's also the tone, and the tempo, and the meaning underlying behind it. Shit I'm starting to bore you again, aren't I?

Um… ok. How do I explain this… well it's a bit complicated. You see… uh… he used to like me. You know, THAT way. Like REALLY like me. We used to always hang out. I don't know how it started… wait, yeah I do. It's Kyle's fault. Christophe moved here, and Kyle was absent, but he texted me to show Chris around. So after two hours of paranoid situation that were planned out over and over in my head (did I mention I am like REALLY paranoid. Like everything has to have a catch with me… but continuing with the story…), I FINALLY had the courage to show him around.

I wasn't into guys then… I don't quite know if I am now. I just know I'm into him. Anyways, when we went around town and school, we started to hang out a bit more. Then one day, he kissed me…. FUCKING KISSED ME. At first I thought it was a dream, or I was stuck in an alternate universe, or… or even that it was a prank and he is being an asshole. But after the shock and the paranoid, reality hit me. And fuck did it hurt! I mean, a guy kissed me. What was I supposed to do? Kiss him back? Um… I don't swing that way, or at least I didn't at the time. So I uh, politely, turned him down and… fuck it, I freaked out and ranted conspiracies and then turned him down bluntly.

I admit he was shock… and it was obvious I hurt him, but he's a mercenary, he doesn't cry. So he smiled his rough, smug smile and said it was fine. I got scared and tried to hang out less and less with him. It worked, but after a year, I was in my bed in the middle of the night and I was barricading my room from the underpants gnomes, and… I realized something. I started to cry after they gave up on trying coming into the room. I cried because I realized that they haven't come in three years because of Christophe. I cried because I realized that I missed Christophe. I missed his smug smile and his raspy laugh. I missed his melancholy stare when he's lost in thought. I missed him popping out of nowhere to say something relevant and scaring me. I miss his smell that I just realized that I always looked forward to. And most of all, I miss how passionately he kissed me that day. And that's when I realized I was already in love with him.

I don't know when that happened, or how, or where, or even why! Nor do I give a damn anymore! I just know it's done. And I would go back in time and kiss him back, if I could go back in time to tell him how it wasn't paranoia fear that made my heart jump when he was near, it was my undiscovered feelings for him. Despite that, I don't have a chance because he's after Red. Worst part, she's all over him (did I mention he was bi?). So I lost my chance.

Yet, no matter how much time passes, no matter how much girls or guys he scores. I won't be able to let go. I can't sit by as he moves on. I want to move on with him, and if that makes me a selfish jackass, then so be it. I won't let go.

I do mind.


	7. Chapter 1: Oh Vey!

**A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating this story; I've been, honestly, uninspired. Yet, I've gained that inspiration once again and I intend to continue. If no one has noticed, I have written other stories, check 'em out if you please. Just enjoy the ACTUAL story of **_**Clear Cut Love **_**now that the intros are done and over with. **

Kyman: 1

There that asshole goes again, acting like he's ready for war some shit. Like he's ready to pounce at anyone who "dares" to pick a fight with him. He's probably acting that way because he assumes I'll come out of nowhere. It's the game we play. The challenge we uphold. It's a never ending cycle I assume we both want to continue. Sincerely, everyone in this school is a retard, and the only one I consider up in my level is the Jew. I guess that's why we bash heads, because we don't have anyone else to bash heads with. Despite that, I can see his alert movement leak out of that trying-to-be stoic face of his. He's expecting me, because I haven't fought with him for two days. Yes, two days. That's a really LONG time in our book.

I very well can't disappoint him, so I happily sigh and eagerly step in front of his path as he is walking across the hallway. The challenge is here, folks. Come one, come all, because today is the day I'll beat the shit out of the Jew.

He bumps into me and shuffles away in a surprised anger.

"What the fuck, fatass!" He glares up at me with those cute brows mushed together so distinctly.

"The fuck me? Everyone knows you Jew-rats need to make way for the higher sub-species." I retort with a smug grin.

"I don't feel like attending detention today for beating your ass, Cartman. Let me get to my locker." He spouts.

By now, some of the students hault slightly to witness the common spectacle they are used to. We fist fight and argue constantly and it's practically a show for the students. Especially the freshmen who know nothing about the both of us and are shocked that two students would fight so much in open public. Honestly, even the teachers don't care, most of them stop to watch too when they're close. And the ones who do care are getting tired of breaking up the same event constantly.

"Detention? Please, if you _dare_ to face me you'll be in the hospital, Jew." I brag.

"Hospital?" He looks amused by this comment. "Honestly, Cartman, how many times have you _actually_ won? About once or twice I assume." He looks as if he's about to burst out laughing.

I glare, starting to loose my haughty demeanor and gaining a familiar ire. "Nine times, Jew! _NINE!"_

"Wow, that's more that I thought, but nine out of lets say about a hundred isn't that impressive." He smirked victoriously.

"Nine this year, Jew! I've won way more than nine times in total." I growl.

"It's sad that you actually keep count of that, fatass. Are you that insecure that you-" I cut him off as I swing my fist up at his jaw and he rocks his head back in surprise.

Some of the students gasp, especially the freshmen, and they step back in a circle.

The Jew regains balance and wipes his mouth as he forms an almost sadistic smile. You would think that would be uncharacteristic for the Jew, but really, he only does so in moments like these.

"That was almost affective!" He growls as he grabs me by the shoulder and knees me in the face. Not in the gut, in the fucking face! This Jew is jack shit of all kinds of crazy, but luckily for me, so am I.

I don't let myself recover until I latch at his Jew curls (his stupid hat fell off as I punched him by the way) and slam his head against the lockers by me. He punches me hard as shit on the back and I could feel the numbing pain as I loose some air. I nearly fall to my knees but he bashes my head in the lockers by pulling my hair back in the same manner I did to him. I can hear my ears ringing but I ignore it as I grab his legs and trip him on the spot. He falls to his back with a broken yell and I straddle him and attempt to punch his face excessively. I succeed as I end up punching him for about five times, but he ducks one of my fists and my kunckles nearly break as it comes in contact with the hard floor. I hiss in pain as he struggles to push me off. I'm heavy for him (just because I'm heavy doesn't mean I'm fat, stop thinking that!) but he succeeds and I roll off from the side.

As was about to punch my face in the floor, I see someone grab him from behind. It was Mr. Ficks, the assistant principal. Not caring, I trudge up to him him in the balls, but someone grabs me from behind as well and I didn't bother to notice who. The gym teacher sounded his whistle loudly and all the students, including Kyle and I, cringed at the loudness of it.

"Cartman, Broflovski! Can you two go for a week without fighting!" He asked in the way all gym teachers ask, as if he had a built in megaphone installed in him or some shit.

"Tell that to him! I was calmly walking to my locker when he picked a fight with me!" Kyle yelled back.

"I don't give a damn who started it or not!" He yelled, spit flying from his lips. "I'm sick and tired of you two! Now, I've been too lenient with the both of you ladies! One more fight out of you two on school property and you won't be getting detentions! You'll be outright expelled!"

"What!" Kyle shrieked in concerned shock.

"That's right, Broflovski! One more duel out of you and no law school for you!" The gym teacher spout.

I couldn't help but chuckle. Really, I would love everyone to think that I chuckled on Kyle's expense, but it was actually because a swad of the gym teacher's spit landed on Mr. Fick's face.

"And you, chubby!" He turned to me.

"I'm not fat you bald headed freak!" I shouted. I hate it when others _dare_ to call me fat! Only Kyle gets away with calling me that, but not without a few bruises or cuts from me.

He came dangerously close to my face. "One more peep like this out of you, and the Juvenile Dentention Center is gonna be your new home."

"Juvie!" I spouted, appalled.

"Yeah, you heard me!" He smiled smugly.

He stepped back between us. "For now you bitches go to anger management together. I will make sure and make it manditory, by court's law, that by next week you will spend the remainder of the year living together in a government paid apartment! You will also have community service hours to attend!"

"What! Expelling me is one thing, but making me live with that... thing!" Kyle said in disgust towards me.

"Yes!" He yelled to the Jew's face. "And if the landowner even suspects that you two will fight in her property then, expellsion and Juvie for the BOTH of you!"

We gaped at the gym teacher. "Do I make myself clear ladies!"

"Is that even legal!" I asked.

"I've already got it set. I've been waiting for you two to burst like this so I can get the judge's signature." He said.

"You ladies are gonna get along whether you like it or not!" And with that, he turned on his heels and left us.

The bell rang, signaling the end of school. The teachers let us go and left, and the students, shocked and appalled, slowly left us alone. We were still unable to grasp the entire situation.

"Five months, living with you..." Kyle said, still gaping.

"Shit..." I said in the same manner. "What about our parents? Is it even legal?" I asked.

"We're both eighteen." He said. "Our parents don't have a say in the matter."

"Fuck..." Is all I could say.

Honestly, I was too much in shock to reciprocate the feelings of excitement that I would later on feel.

Kyle and I... living under the same roof... and not allowed to fight!

"Oh vey." Kyle said.

And even though the expression was Jewish, I couldn't help but agree.

**A/N: I didn't plan this... the story wrote itself. I didn't expect that out come myself. Honestly! I wrote without a plan and this came out... yes! At least I have a conflict to go on with this pairing. But fuck my life because now I need to come up with conflicts for the other pairings! Yay, at least this pairing is interesting. But now difficult, how am I going to write about them living in one roof? otl!**


	8. Chapter 2: Extraordinary

Crenny: 1

"What am I going to do!" Kyle whined to us as we walked home. "I can't deal with him for five minutes, how am I going to do it for the rest of the school year in one roof!"

"You two can, for once in your lives, _not_ fight!" Stan rolled his eyes. "How about that?"

"Yeah, like I'm the one who starts off most of the fights! It's almost _always _Cartman!" Kyle whined.

"Cheer up, kid. I'm pretty sure Cartman doesn't want to go to juvie, so he'll try and keep the peace too." I reassured.

"That's true." Kyle agreed, yet still pouted.

"Then again, his homosexual love for you will blossom even more now!" I joked.

"Ew!" Kyle flinched back in disgust. "That's gross, Ken! If Cartman had a crush on someone, it would _definitely_ not be me! He hates me just as much as I hate him!" Kyle declared.

"It was a joke, Ky." I laughed.

Honestly, it wasn't. Ever since I've been a small child, I could read people like a book. Even the most mysterious and private people. I could always, ALWAYS, read them as if they told me their feelings ever so bluntly. So I knew with a distinct certainty that Eric Theodore Cartman was in love with Kyle Broflovski. It was edivential and undeniable as the sky was blue and the grass was green. I also could tell how Butters was head over heels for the school jock, and how Bebe glanced at her best friend constantly with heart-struck eyes. It was concrete. You know what else was concrete? How Mr. Ficks was secretly amored for Mrs. Crenshaw. Also how Nina Milacki had a drug problem, even if she had the name of "the school's most innocent girl". It was also concrete and painfully obvious that my little sister isn't a virgin anymore, even if she told no one. How Kyle's dad cheats on Sheila with the school's guidance counselor. No, don't think that way! Mr. Mackey is the elementary's school counselor. The highschool's counselor is a hot babe.

Do you know the only thing I can't read like an open book?

Craig Motherfucking Tucker.

He's the most mundane, plainest, dull, stoic, fucking boring person you will ever have the "pleasure" to meet. Still, I can't figure him out. He does certain things that I can't decipher. I'm the most observant person I know, yet as I observe him, to the bone might I add, I can't grasp his methods and reasons and character. I know everyone in this town like the back of my hand, yet whenever I look at Craig, it's as if I find a new scar or bump in my hand. How can this even be! The most boring son of a bitch in South Park is the one soul I can't figure out. Really! He's not as boring as I make him out to be, but he sure keeps up pretenses quite well.

I kept making sure Kyle is reassured that it isn't as bad as he sounds as I walk home. I wave goodbye to them as I turn to walk along the train tracks that lead to my house, my thoughts still lingering about the most mundane person in probably all of Colorado.

Ironically, I look up to find the son of a bitch bent down to the ground as if he were looking for something in the train tracks. I calmly walk up to him, although my heart beats a mile an hour.

"Craig Tucker. What're you doing in my turf, cowboy?" I laugh as I pretend my hand is a gun.

"You're such a spazz, McCormick." He says without looking up.

I pull my hood up to cover more of my mouth that it already does. "Watcha looking for?" I ask.

"Something that doesn't concern you." He said bluntly.

I glance up at his face. The same monotone expression plastered permanently across his porcalain complexion. I slightly blushed and thanked to God that this parka covered it well.

"Did you drop something?" I persisted.

"If I tell you, will you stop pestering me?" He said without emotion.

I nodded without saying anything. Honestly, his attitude never affected me. I knew he was this way with everyone, and that I was no exception. I would find it weird if he addressed me in a different manner.

He sighed, still keeping the same bored expression. "I'm looking for worms." He said blankly.

"Worms!" I asked baffled.

"Worms." He reassured.

"Why the fuck?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Ruby's science project." He said.

"Oh." Was all I could say.

Ruby was Craig's little sister. He was almost ninteen (in two months) and she was almost thirteen (in one month). It was obvious to everyone around them that he was a doting older brother, even though no one actually saw it with their eyes. If not in school or with friends, they were always together with the same stoic expression. She, I could read every movement and ever aspect. She was a tall girl with strawberry blonde hair and it was always tied in a ponytail with her hair back, exposing her face. She had grey eyes like her older brother and her mother and she had freckles like her father. She usually wore odd clothes, meaning some kind of weird miniskirt, a mismatched tanktop under a colorful open jacket, striped stockings (that didn't go with anything she wore and were always colorful), those shitty wheelie shoes (the ones where you can walk normally then all of a sudden, if you wanted, you would skate with your heels), and a similar hat to Craigs (except it was colorful and it had tinges of pink and orange and blue and purple and was always out of place with the colors of her outfit). She had pink and purple braces and her nails were always painted with a random color on each finger. Although she tried her best to act as stoic as Craig, she never could. Sure she got the dull face down to the joint, but her eyes said everything. She had an attitude and was a very rude child, but she loved her big brother more than anything and she couldn't help but brighten her eyes around him. She was also the most stubborn girl you can ever meet and she was headstrong and lazy. Did I mention she was always chewing gum and blowing them into bubbles? No? Well, that's fine really, except for the fact that she chews like a cow.

Craig on the other hand, always wore the same dull blue jacket with the same dull blue worn out jeans with the same blue hat with a yellow poofball. He never did anything but flip everyone off, something his sister copies as well, and make rude comments at every retarded thing he saw. His eyes were mysterious though. Not a readable expression in them. Always the same dull life in them, and if any expression was ever expressed in those deep grey eyes, then it was something I could never decipher. Something I could never percieve. He hid everything so well, everything that he wanted to hide stayed hidden, even from me. I guess that may have been what lured me to him. It may have been what sparked a fire in me.

"Are you gonna stay there watching me all day?" He asked.

"Probably." I muffled behind my parka.

"If you're going to stay here, then at least help me search, McCormick." He said in that nasal and monotone voice.

"Nope." I said.

He glanced at me, his face the same as always. "And why not?" He asks.

"Because you won't find worms here." I say.

"What?" He asks.

"You won't find worms here. You find them late at night or early morning, and it needs to be in a rich and wet soil." I explained.

"And how do you know this?" He asked.

"Worms are good bait for the fish in Stark's Pond. I use them to catch fish for dinner." I answered.

"Shit..." He muttered under his breathe. "It doesn't get dark till seven and it's only four."

"When does Ruby need it?" I asked.

"By friday." He said.

"It's Wednesday." I stated.

"Yeah, so she can do the experiments tomorrow." He said.

"That sounds like a plan." I said getting up. I tightened my hood as the chill air breezed past me, frosting my nose.

"Can you even find worms in this cold?" Craig asked.

"I don't know. I hope." I said. "You know people usually buy worms."

"Yeah, that's what I said, but she needs them wild and pictures of them in the dark." Craig explained.

"Then buy worms and drop them in the soil." I explained.

"That's what I said." Craig answered.

"And what did she say?" I asked.

"Nothing. She gave me her puppy dog eyes." Craig said in the most casual tone.

I burst out laughing and after I calmed down, he got up and brushed any dirt from his jeans.

"So what are you going to do, Craig?" I asked, still laughing.

"I'm going to drag you along with me. Do you have any plans today?" He asked me.

My heart skipped multiple beats and my cheeks warmed up in contrast of the chilling air. Thank you my dear parka. If it wasn't for you, then he would see me blush nearly always.

"Not really." I said in the most casual tone I could muster.

"Then hang out with me till it's dark." Craig said and he walked away to the good part of town.

I followed him, and the entire time we walked, it was silent. Despite the silence, it wasn't awkward in the least. In fact, it was entirely familiar and comfortable. The kind of silence you don't want to end because it would bring you back into reality. For a slight and utter second, so quick and without warning, I knew that I would never meet anybody like Craig in a million years in any part of the word. He wasn't ordinary, not at all, athough he strived to be.

He was extraordinary in the most unique ways.


	9. Chapter 3: The Great Depression

Stutters: 1

"Stan!" I called out to the school jock.

Stan looked back as he walked and I could see him sighing in annoyance. People thought I didn't notice it when they rolled their eyes or look at me with disgust or annoyance, or even when they talked about me when I wasn't around. I may be innocent and naive, but I'm not stupid.

"What, Butters?" He said in a tired tone.

"I heard ya fell asleep in history. I have the same class in fifth period. Would you like to borrow my notes?" I asked, hoping he would take it.

At that last sentence, his annoyance diminished and was replaced by his signature smile. "Woah thanks, Butters." He said almost surprised.

God, I loved it when he acted surprised, even though I always gave him my notes and let him copy my homework. I tutor him too. Actually, since Kyle has AP classes and Honors as well, he doesn't have the same homework that Stan has. I have an honors class or two, but most of mine are regulars, like Stan's. I kept it that way so we can talk on a daily basis.

"Oh yeah, and there's tutorin' afterschool. Be sure not to come late now." I reminded him with a sweet smile.

He looked at my notes as he smiled, not even turning to me. He nodded and said, "Thanks. I'll be there." and he put his hand on my head before going away. It was like his approval of me. I loved getting that.

As he was about to leave, screaming and cheering was heard in the hallway across from us.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I don't know. Come on, let's check it out." He said.

With that we went closer to the comotion and a circle was formed. The cheering and yelling was loud and echoed.

"It looks like a fight." Stan siad aloud.

Suddenly a screeching whistle shrieked across the entire hallway and the huge crowd grew silent. It was so loud, I couldn't help but cringe slightly.

"Cartman, Broflovski! Can you two go for a week without fighting!" I heard the coach boom with his deep and scary voice.

"Ugh!" Stan groaned and he pinched the bridge of his nose. A habit I loved to witness. "It's those two again."

I heard Kyle scream something about lockers and Cartman starting the fight. I didn't pay attention because I was too glad that the crowd we were in made it so Stan and I were pressed against each other. I tried to hide my blush as well as I could.

"I don't give a damn who started it or not!" The gym coach yelled from the center of the crowd. I couldn't see a thing because of all the people in the way. "I'm sick and tired of you two! Now, I've been too lenient with the both of you ladies! One more fight out of you two on school property and you won't be getting detentions! You'll be outright expelled!"

With that said, I heard Stan gasp slightly. Kyle shrieked "What!" at the news. I patted Stan on the shoulder encouragingly. "Don't worry, Stan. Kyle wouldn't let that happen to him. He won't get expelled."

"Shut up, Butters. I'm trying to hear what they're saying!" He hissed at me.

I lowered my head in shame and stared at the floor as the coach went on about "no law school" whatever that meant. I bumped my knuckles and said, "S-sorry." in a quiet voice.

Cartman insulted the coach and said something about him not being fat. What was next said was hard to hear because it was talked in a low, scary, and deep inside tone. I heard Cartman scream, "Juvie!" and figured the coach threatened to sent him there.

"For now you bitches go to anger management together. I will make sure and make it manditory, by court's law, that by next week you will spend the remainder of the year living together in a government paid apartment! You will also have community service hours to attend!" I heard the coach scream.

"They're gonna live together?" Stan said in surprise.

"What! Expelling me is one thing, but making me live with that... thing!" I heard Kyle yell.

"Yes!" Yelled the coach. "And if the landowner even suspects that you two will fight in her property then, expellsion and Juvie for the BOTH of you! Do I make myself clear ladies?"

"Is that even legal!" I asked.

"I've already got it set. I've been waiting for you two to burst like this so I can get the judge's signature." Said the coach. "You ladies are gonna get along whether you like it or not!" He said that last sentence in such rage and a gargly voice that it sent chills down my spine.

The gym teacher cut through the crowd and nearly pushed me back. I almost fell but Stan caught me by the waist. He helped me up and said, "Come on, clutz. Let's go."

I nodded and smiled as I followed him.

"You're gonna come after school, right?" I asked.

"Yes! Jeez, Butters!" He said angrily.

"Sorry. Stan. Just makin' sure, ya know." I said.

"Uh-huh. See you then, Butters." And with that he left.

I scurried to get to my class.

The remainder of the school day after that was rather dull. I tried my best to pay attention to the classes I knew Stan had, but other than that, I really had no interest. Actually, I had inspiration for a new drawing. I started to draw and draw and I nearly got caught by the teacher twice (he doesn't like it when the children don't pay attention). Honestly, I love to draw, but I don't show anyone my paintings or sketches. They are mostly cartoons or wildlife. I can draw realistic people, but I usually don't draw anything close to that. I love to paint, but I don't really like oil pastels or anything. I just love paint and I use charcoal or pencil every now and then.

When school ended, I rushed to the library like a busy bee and sat down in a table, the nearest one to the door so that Stan could see me. Despite that, I waited for almost twenty minutes. After that long, I grew restless and worried. _What if he forgot_, is what I thought. I took my phone out and texted him.

Butters:

Are you coming to the tutor session? =_=

After about two minutes, my phone vibrated and I answered it.

Stan:

yeah yeah. i just forgot my books home so i went 2 get em. coming in a while

I quickly texted him back.

Butters:

OK. owo

I'll just be waiting then. =w=

I don't know why, but I always make a silly face when I text. I just do, it's not because I'm trying to be cute (like a lot of people say), or because I'm like a girl (which is the most common one). I just like to. What's wrong with that?

After about another twenty minutes of desperate waiting, Stan came calmly through the doors. He looked around, and when to turned to me I smiled and waved. He rolled his eyes as he strutted to my direction with his hands in his jacket pocket. He pulled the chair in front of me and sat down.

"So what's the subject today?" He asked.

"Did you go over the history notes?" I asked.

"Not yet. I just got out of school." He said as if it was obvious. Well, I happen to know (because he told me!) that he has study hall in 4rth period and he could have gone over it then. I decided to let it go.

"Oh, sorry. Well, we could go over them now." I suggested.

He nodded and searched his messy book bag for them.

"If you want I could organize your book bag for you. It would be easier for you to find things." I said with a smile.

"Thanks, Butters." He said as he took out my notebook and tossed me his book bag.

I caught it, with much trouble, and when I opened it I found a bunch of nasty things. His papers were all messed around and scrunged up, and there were chip bags scattered around. A moldy sandwich in a plastic bag was inside, and his pens and pencils were scattered. It's much worse than I'm making it out to be.

I took out all the pencils and neatly placed them in his pencil box. I took out all his papers and opened his binder and started to organize them. I threw away all the trash and organized them in such a way I knew it would be easy for him to find whatever he needed. I noticed he had no highlighters, and my fifth period teacher, which is his sixth, has a thing about highlighters, so I gave him one of mine (since I had two just in case).

I zipped up his book bag as I said, "You done going over it?"

"Huh? Ah, yeah. I don't get the part about the Depression." He said.

"What don't you get?" I asked.

"Well, for one, how lond did the Depression last?" He asked.

"Twelve years. See..." I pointed to the part when it said Beginning of The Great Depression. "It started in 1929 and ended in 1941. There was a great difference in the rich and the poor, and there was definitely more of the poor. It started because of the expenses World War One left behind. Stock markets crashed and the independent companies merged with the bigger ones. Because of that there were only 200 companies controlling over half of the American industry. That was a big monopoly." I explained.

"Two-hundred seems like a large number." Stan comented.

"Seems like it, right? But apparently in the world of industry, it's a very small number." I told him.

"Hey Butters, can I ask you a favor?" Stan asked.

I perked my ears to listen to what he had to say. "Anything, Stan." I answered.

"Can you help me study for the midterms coming up in two weeks? I really need to pass or I will be kicked off the football team. I would ask Kyle, but now he's going to have his hands full with the fatass." He explained.

"Sure. We can dedicate weekends and afterschool to your studying." I said.

"Weekends too!" He asked.

"Of course. You wanna pass don'tcha?" I asked.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A habit I loved to witness.

"Okay. Just help me pass the midterms." He said.

"Sure thing, Stan." I smiled and handed him his bookbag.

He took it and leaned to pat my head. It was like his approval of me. I loved getting that.


	10. Chapter 4: May The Force Be With You

Stolovan 1:

The crowd pushed one another to see the grand and common spectacle of the duel between the famous Kyle and Cartman of South Park High. It was common, but a spectacle nonetheless. We were famous for it, our school I mean. Other schools knew about the duo and the parents would stay away from us because of it. The parents who hadn't a clue didn't find out until their child would come home (usually a freshman) and rave about it. The parent would get mad beyond belief and force the school to take action. The school would suspend and give out detentions to the two, but with their obvious hate for one another, that wouldn't stop them. Now, after three years and about four months in highschool, the teachers rallied up to actually do something. Talk about last minute plans.

The coach had a bone to pick with the two, mostly because once in his class when they were sophmores he tried to break up the fight and he got some good punches for getting in the way. Now everyone knows not to get directly in between the two in their infamous fist fights, the best way to stop them is to grab them from behind. Really, the lateness of the faculty's plan to put this to a permanent stop was on hold for three years and four months, because they weren't eighteen yet. Now that they were, the law had a real hold on them and they couldn't hide behind their parents anymore. Not that it bugged me, but I found it amusing.

Kyle wasn't a bad person (so I'm not amused by his suffering), but I found it funny how Cartman would have to put up with the Jew from now on. The only bad thing is that there would be no more crowds like this. Why was that a bad thing? Well, mostly because I enjoyed to see Kevin from the other side of the crowd watching with an apathetic face. He didn't care much for school fights, but he watched nonetheless (and was in front in the crowd to boot).

The only time he ever showed emotion in the fights was when Kyle and Cartman would come a little bit too close to his liking he would open his eyes real wide and back away behind the nearest person to him. I usually wondered why he would waste his time watching fights when I knew he didn't like them. I always found Kevin really, contradicting. That's actually the only word to describe him.

Contradicting.

After the fight ended, I gathered up my courage and ran to him, catching up to his pace. "Hey, Kev." I said. Really, we weren't that close, but I was the one who talked to him the most.

"Clyde." He raised his head in acknowledgment. He yawned and stretched his arms out bluntly.

That's another thing I liked about Kevin. He did whatever he wanted to in open public. He scratched his ass, he ate baby food, he drew lightsabers and hung them up in his binders and lockers, and he even took his Darth Vader mask or some dark cape to school sometimes. It's funny, because it wasn't the cheap ten dollar mask that covered only your face, it was the entire helmet that had sound and everything. Sometimes he would take his cheap lightsabers to school, not wanting to take his expensive ones. For God sakes, I once saw him dressed completely as Darth Vader (every inch of his costume, from the helmet to the suit and schoes) while I was shopping for eggs in the supermarket! The fucking supermarket! Who wears a Darth Vader suit to the fucking supermarket!

"Did you do the homework for English?" I asked.

He took his cape and flung it dramatically to his side. "Homework I did. Copy it, do you want?" Did I mention he talks like Yoda at times?

"Duh. I was playing video games and I didn't feel like doing it." I explained.

"Aha!" He said and pointed to the ceiling as if discovering something important. "Tempted you were not, by the dark side?"

I laughed and rolled my eyes, already used to his erotic behavior. "Oh, Bebe asked me out again."

"Again?" He asked in his normal voice.

"Uh-huh. Can't keep away from my sexy bod." I bragged.

"You going with her?" He asked rolling his eyes.

I blushed a little. Honestly, I only went with Bebe to make Kevin jealous, and whenever he seemed annoyed or tired by the subject, I couldn't help but get my hopes high. "Can't let the babes down." I said in a smug smile.

"What babes? They only go to you for shoes." He said.

"How could you say that!" I asked baffled.

"Because after you buy them a new pair of schoes practically free, they dump you. They ask you out whenever they want one. Red who is dating Token asks you out sometimes. Do you think he minds? Nope. Because he knows that she only does it to get free shoes." Kevin explained.

I literally slumped, feeling deflated. "You always have to burst my bubble, don't you?" I ask.

"Yep. Now do you want to hear something important?" He asked, disregarding my announcement like trash.

"Is it Star Wars?" I asked rolling my eyes.

"... no..." He said sheepishly.

"It's Star Wars." I confirmed.

He sighed and said, "Yes."

"What?" I said with a sigh.

"I heard from a friend that there's this third trilogy! A third one! Can't you believe it! It's where Luke turns to the dark side, and Lea has to save him! I hear Lucas wants to make the third trilogy. It's only a rumor, but God wouldn't that be epic?" He ranted.

"That old men should stop raping movies." I commented.

"This is a third trilogy, Clyde. It's not raping movies, it's making new ones." He explained.

"Whatever, I need to get to anatomy class anyways." I said.

"Anatomy class? Sounds too smart for you." He said. Did I mention he's too blunt and doesn't care for other's feelings by what he says.

"Gee, thanks Stoley." I roll my eyes. "It was either that or Physics, and I'd rather learn about the human body *wink wink* than about stupid shit." I said.

"Stupid shit! You know it's actually the natural science that studies matter and motion throughout spacetime. It brushes through concepts as energy and force and it has to do with the analysis of nature and it reveals how the universe behaves and the order of it." He said in his arrogant, matter-of-fact tone.

"Uh-huh, and anatomy has to do with boobs. I get it." I answered.

"Boobs! That's such a crude way of putting it! Anatomy has to do with biology and the branch and study of medicine! Did you know medicine is 200 years behind science! And about 100 or 150 years behind engineering!" He ranted.

"Wow... fascinating." I said in a voice oozing out apathy. I swear he's worse than Kyle. Like a walking encyclopedia.

"Hey Clyde, can I ask you a favor?" He said out of no where.

My interest perked up. "What?" I asked.

"Well, you know I have a thing for Star Wars, right?" He asked.

"A 'thing' for Star Wars? You wore a Darth Vader costume to the supermarket!" I said.

He laughed his cute laugh, the one when he snorts and cackles. "Oh yeah! I just felt like it." He giggled.

I had the urge to ruffle his hair, but I restrained from it. "That freaked me out, dude. There I was, in the early morning, getting eggs and milk when I turn to see Darth Vader picking a stick of butter across from me. I nearly jumped back!" I said.

He laughed more, snorting and not caring how he sounded. "Well, anyways." He started once he calmed down. "There's this Star Wars convention coming up in three weeks. I was going to bring a pen pal friend, but he just went through a family tragedy where his brother died."

"Shit." I said.

"I know right, that must suck! But anyways, I have no one to drive me to California. Can you come with me? If you're not busy." He asked. His eyes big and wide, so cute I couldn't resist. God I'm so fucking gay.

"In three weeks?" I asked.

"It's during winter break, so it should be fine." He said.

"Do I have to dress up?" I asked, a brow quirked up.

"Maybe... If you want, or you can just wear a Star Wars T-shirt." He said. "I have a bunch, so I can lend you."

Winter Break with Kevin. Having him all to myself for Winter Break. Driving in a rode trip for hours with him, going to California, wearing his T-shirt... I would be insane to decline.

"Sure. I just gotta check with my parents." I said.

"Oh, sure. Just text me. Do you want my number?" He asked.

Shit, and I get his digits too! Fuck, there has to be a catch somewhere. This is too good to be true.

"Sure." I hand him my phone. "Just type in your name and digits." I said.

He did so. "Just text me when your parents answer you. I'll save your number in my contacts then." He turned to go to the hallway where his class was. He turned back to me and thrashed his cape dramatically behind him. "May the force be with you, Padawan." He said, trying to make his voice sound deeper, and failing.

I chuckle and roll my eyes as I walk to the opposite side to my Anatomy class.

This is going to be sweet.

**A/N: Actually, for any Star War fans out there (which I actually am), I did hear from my teacher that there might be a Third Trilogy, and that the third trilogy is written in a book somewhere. Unfortunately, I don't know the name of it, or I would have read it a long time ago. Also... after writing this, I have the urge to dress up as Darth Vader and go to a supermarket.**


	11. Chapter 5: He Doesn't Deserve You

Webe 1:

I asked out Clyde this morning. I'm not sure why, I just did. I think it was because either I wanted to make Wendy jealous, or because I needed a new pair of shoes. I think it's the latter, seeing as attempting to make her jealous would without a doubt be a failure. Stan has ingored her for more than a week and I can see Wendy slipping. She's trying to keep her composure, but she's loosing her hold on her emotions and acting on impulse again. Why does he do that to her! Everyone always criticizes her, behind her back, on grasping too much of his attention, of being an attention whore. They don't know anything! She only demands it when she's been depraved of it for more than a month, and that's often. No one realizes that he ignores her constantly and that he clings to her when it's convinient to him. He doesn't care about her! He just has a girlfriend whenever he feels like it! One day, I'll talk to you, one week I won't, one day I'll talk to you, one week I won't. Still, they blame her.

"Wendy, do you want to go to the park today?" I ask as we walk to class.

She shakes her head, still deep in her thoughts.

"Are you busy, hon?" I ask.

"Uh... Stan said that we are going to a movie afterschool. Sorry, Bebe." She explained.

I want to tell her, "_I bet you $20 he won't show._" but I hold my tongue. Instead I say, "Oh, what are you two watching?"

"Rising of the Planet of the Apes." She answers.

"NO!" I say loudly and burst up in giggles. She looks at me like I sprouted two heads. I wave my arm and giggle as I say, "You'll get the joke once you see the movie."

"Oh... now I'm scared to." She smiles.

"No, it's really good." I assure her.

"I don't know, we have different tastes when it comes to good." She laughed.

I scoffed like I was offended. "Well then! See you later, Testaburger." I laugh as we walk our seperated ways.

Suddenly I see a large crowd in front of me, and Butters and Stan were running inside the crowd. I heard loud punches and the lockers being banged and I assumed it was probably the two dummies fighting. By dummies I mean the Nazi and the Jew.

Not wanting to be late to class I go another direction.

After school I get a call from Wendy. I know exactly what's going to happen. It's happened countless times before.

I answer it and Wendy immediately starts with, "Can you come to the movies with me?" Her voice sounded broken. She probably has been crying. I nod although she can't see me and say, "Of course, Wends."

I shut the phone and start to walk to the nearest movie theater. Once I arrive, I see her sitting in a bench alone staring at the snow across from her. I smile sadly.

"Wends." I call out to her. She turns with the biggest eyes I know by date. Her eyes get all big and cute whenever she's sad; I don't think she even realizes it.

"Oh, hi Bebe." She smiles ear to ear, but her eyes say it all. It says how rejected she feels, because if it happened once or twice, it wouldn't be such a big deal, but things like this happen all the time.

"Let's see the monkey movie." I said with a comforting smile as I stan in front of her.

She nodded. "Mhmm." She started to cry and she leaned into my trench coat. I held her head and stroked her hair. The Wendy I know will never show public weakness. She's too strong and controlled for that; yet when it comes to Stan, everything changes. It's like he changes her completely, and not for the better.

"Shhshh." I whispered as I stroke her hair. "He wouldn't have liked the movie anyways." I said with a sad chuckle. I know it was stupid, but I had to say something. I've tried insulting him in the past in situations like this (and he deserved every word I thought and said), but she always got angry at me. Even when he hurt her, she always defended him. He didn't deserve her.

She chuckles back. "It's okay, though. Maybe he..." Her voice broke and she tried to regain it. "It's not that." She finally said.

"What?" I asked.

"It's part of it, but it's not that entirely." She started.

"What is it then?" I asked.

"He needs help tutoring for his midterms. He just texted me that. It's fine, it really is. I want him to do good in school. What gets me is that..." He wiped her tears. "He won't ask me for help. He asks Butters. It's always Kyle or Butters. I get that Kyle is his best friend, I really do. It doesn't bug me that he wasn't to spend time with his friends, but... why doesn't he ever ask me?" Her lips were thin in the verge to burst out in a sob. "I'm smart too, I'm his girlfriend! Why doesn't he ever ask me for help? Why doesn't he ever spend time with me? Does he hate me? Has he lost interest in me?" She smiled and let out a broken chuckle as tears spilled out of her eyes. "I think he's seeing someone else." She whispered. "It's either that, or-or he doesn't love me anymore."

I sat down next to her, trying to repress the feeling to cry. I can't bear to see her this way. I wrapped my arms around her and placed her head on top of my breasts and she cried into them. I rocked gently back and forth and stroked her hair as she clutched me tighter with each sob. I ignored the furtive glances of disaprovement and false concern from the people that passed by. She didn't need them. She had real comfort here. Why couldn't she see that?

"Can I tell you what I think, even though you already know it?" I said.

She shook her head. "I don't want to hear it." She whispered.

I nodded. I closed my eyes and blinked as I looked up at the sky to hold back my tears. I sighed and plastered on a smile for her. "We should go now, if we want a snack before the movie." We got up from the bench.

She wiped her tears and hugged me. "Thanks, Bebe." her face was snuggled on the crook of my neck.

I patted her head. "No problem, Wends."

We went inside the movie theaters.

About two hours later, we came out rambling about our favorite parts on it.

"NO!" I said loudly with a giggle.

"Oh my God, that part almost made me shit my pants!" She exclaimed.

"I know right! Everyone was cheering for Ceaser, then suddenly he said that, and the whole theater was like, 'Oh shit!'" I laughed.

"All that guy in the cage could say was, 'Your ape... he spoke.'" She giggled. "No not, 'He lead a rampage of apes out of the facility.' or ' He killed my coworker.' No! He just said, 'Your ape... he spoke...'" She laughed.

"I told you this morning you would get the joke." I said.

"It really was a good movie." Wendy said.

"Don't you feel bad about bashing my taste?" I said with the quirk of my eye.

She laughed and made a false apalled expression. "I didn't bash your taste in movies! I just said ours were different."

I laughed. "Oh really? Okay, I'll let it slide, Wends." I giggled.

We walked home after ranting and giggling. We walked in silence to the road of our house. For some reason, she layed her hand on my shoulder and stopped me midway.

I turned back to look at her, and she had a very 'Wendy' expression. Her face was full of determination and a reserved manner of gratitude. "Thank you, Bebe. Really." She said.

I smiled and said, "Anything for my best friend."

"If so, can I ask you for a favor?" She asked.

"Anything." I said without hesitation.

"Can you help me, somehow or someway, get over Stan. I need to fall out of love with him if I am going to break up with him for good." She said in a softer tone. "I don't think I can do it now, no matter how much I tried. If he shot me those blue eyes, or glance at me with that sad smile, I'd give in. And even if he doesn't, just seeing his smile beam in the hallway or in the streets would make my head spin. I'm not strong enough." She admitted with trouble. Wendy Testaburger wasn't strong enough to break up with her douche of a boyfriend. He made her weak, and that was clear as day. Still, she had the capacity to acknowledge this, and she tucked her pride away to ask me this simple favor. I had to comply; no matter what I would break these chains Stan built on her. I would make her free and I would make her strong again.

"Of course. I would be more than happy to, Wends." I said truthfully. "I don't care if you don't want to hear it. I'll say it now and I'll say it for the rest of my life if I need to." I looked at her with a stern face. "He doesn't deserve you. You're too good for him. I know those lines are cheesy, but they speak the truth more than those blue eyes. His smile is nothing compared to yours and his air or essence is not even a quarter of the grace you hold."

She blushed and smiled sheepishly. "You're complimenting me too much, Bebe. I'm not that grand." She brushed her hair back.

"Please. You're Wendy fucking Testaburger. You're not just the student council president, you're not just a pretty face, and your not just the quarter back's girlfriend. You're a whole lot more than that, and do you want to know why I think he ignores you so much?" I said.

She shook her head.

"Well I'll tell you whether you like it or not." I began. "He's intimidated by you. He knows he's not worth your time. He's not as brilliant as you. He's not as smart as you. He's not as talented or charming or as important as you. He can't compare to you, and it's shameful for him. It eats him up inside and instead of being grateful that you give him attention, instead of being grateful that you love him so much and that you don't care who he is or what he's done, he pushes you away because knowing all this hurts his pride and his ego and he doesn't know how to handle that."

She stares at me in awe. "I never once thought of that." She said.

"Because you're a lot of things, Wendy Testaburger. You're arrogant to some degree," She furrowed her brows at me but I didn't care. "You acknowledge your good qualities and you pride yourself with them. Despite all that, you're modest."

I sighed and smiled. "So because of the fact that I think he doesn't deserve you, I'll help you realize how much of a douche he is." She cringed of the insult I said towards Stan and I laughed, having some faith that soon she won't give a damn about him.

I'll help her realize that he doesn't control her and that she's worth more than his attention because I love Wendy Testaburger so much.

**A/N: I love this chapter. Believe it or not, I really love this pairing, and it was so nice writing it. I love yaoi more than yuri, but I still love yuri so fucking much! I'm not bi or gay or anything (straight as a board), but when I read a pairing, I go by emotion and plot and chemistry. So when I read smut of hetero or homo (both yuri and yaoi), and it's just plain old smut, I don't like it. It needs to have emotional value. I guess what I'm saying sounds very girly and very "emotional" but fuck you. I'm a girl, and I'm an emotional one, so if you think that the **_**Notebook**_** was bad or that romance is overrated, what the fuck are you even reading this story for?**

**Hoped you like the angle I played in my pairings and this one too. Now pray to a God of some sort that I get the next one (Twophe) well, because I'm having problems approaching them. **


	12. Chapter 6: Mon Ami

Twophe 1:

UGH!

God damn that French ass!

Did I mention Chris is leaning down to get a pencil he dropped, right in front of me? I guess not. Well, it's torture really (trying not to stare at it). Is this how he felt when he used to love me? God that sucks. I'm such an asshole... God I'm an asshole! That's too much pressure!

"Uh... Hey, GAH, Chris." I say. God, why can't I stop randomly spurting for once in my miserable life!

He turns slightly after picking up his pencil to me. "'Ello, Tueek."

It's weird how he says my name, in that French accent, but it sends delightful shivers down my spine whenever he does. "How's it g-g-going." I ask, clutching the strap of my book bag.

"Oh. It is goeeng vell. I 'ave been diggeeng holes more zan beefore though." He said. He turned to look me in the eyes fully this time. He smiles that smug smile and ruffles my hair. "'Ow is my little coffee ahdeect?" He joked.

I tried my best not to let myself blush. "I'm... URK, trying to cut down." I lied. I don't know why I lie sometimes, I just do. Weird thing, I never lie for big things, but I always lie for the small things. Things like me liking black coffee, but I really just hate it, but I've been drinking it nonestop since I said I loved it because my parents always make it for me. I also say things like I hate geography when I really love it. I claim that when I was little I wanted to be a firefighter when I really wanted to work in a cubical. I guess I just want to make myself seem cooler when I'm not. Then again, being cool is too much pressure!

"Oh really?" He said looking confused.

I try and cover up my lie. "Well it's, ACK, failing. My will is w-weak." I joke.

"Oui. Ju 'ave never 'ad a strong vill, mon ami." He stated.

"I do too!" I exclaim offended. I'm too impuslive and I get offended too easily. I'm full of mistakes! I should just kill myself! Then what if I fail and end up permanently brain damaged! I don't know if I could handle that! I tug my hair in anxiety at my possible whim to kill myself and failing and ending up as a vegetable.

He laughs that rugged laugh. "Gardez mentir à soi-même." He muttered in French.

Argh! I can't take it when he talks in French! Can't he realize I don't know what he's saying and I start to think he's planning a consipiracy on me or something! God damn him!

"I 'aven't talked to ju in so long, mon ami." He said. "Vell, classes are about to begeen. Au revoir." He turned to walk.

"Wait!" I call out to him. Don't try and weasel your way out, Tweek. You can do this. You can do this... this isn't too much pressure. This isn't too much... FUCKING PRESSURE! IT'S TOO MUCH PRESSURE. "Do you want to, GAH, hang out today after s-school?" I ask. See that wasn't too hard... unless he shuts me down and realizes he's too good for me and ignores me for the rest of my life and I end up sad and alone and with nine to twenty cats.

He looks surprised by the invatation and looks even uncomfortable by the offer. "W-well, I mean you probably have better things to, URK, do and it's not really that big of a d-deal and, GAH, it's fine because i was just bored and i'm not in the mood to listen to my dad ramble on about coffee analogies, AGH, ..." I say the last part in one breathe. Damn my shy and awkward ways. Why couldn't I just say, "Well, it's cool if you're busy, dude. See you later, bro." I can never be that cool... I just stand here rambling to myself like a God damn loser like always.

"Eh? I mean, I am not busee tooday. I just 'ave to do somezeeng afterschool. It should onlee take five meenutes." He explains.

"Oh... well another, GAH, time then." That actually didn't come out so bad. Not so much rambling and to the point; I should work on my speech more, but that's too much pressure!

"Eef ju vant to vait for me afterschool, ju can do so." He said.

"S-sure!" I said trying not to blush.

Suddenly a guy runs pass me and nearly makes me fall to my back. I squint my eyes as I expect to land on the harsh floor, but a hand latches unto the strap of my book bag. I jerk to a stop, but I slip off my book bag and land to the floor. Not as hard as it would've been if I wasn't caught, but still pretty hard. I look up and realize Christophe caught my book bag strap, and I just slipped off my book bag.

"Sorry! He can be a jerk sometimes." A girl said as she dashed by us.

"Vhy is evereeone runneeng to zat direction?" He said aloud.

"I don't know." I groan as I struggle to get up.

He lends me a hand and without noticing, almost instictively, I take it. After I did, I regretted it. It was firm and rough and harsh, but it was warmer than you'd think and it had a rugged safe feeling to it. I'm so weird that I could get all that from a fucking hand! I struggled not to blush as he helped me up.

"Hey Craig, what's going, ACK, on?" I turn when I see Craig.

He looks back at a leisure pace and shrugs apathetically. "Something about a fight." He said and left without a care.

"Probablee zose foolish boys." Christophe muttered, and i knew who he was talking about. It was always Kyle and Cartman who fought. Actually, in all of the years I've been in highschool, there were only two other fights I've seen in school, one being between two seniors when I was a sophmore, and the other one was with Christophe and this random British kid. I think that kid was in my elementary class or something. Anyways, he was pompous, and this was around the same time Christophe and I were still tight, before he confessed to me.

_He was pompous and he always said shit about the French. Since Christophe was so patriotic to his country, he couldn't take it whenever he heard the "stupid Brit" as Christophe said it. One day, he went up to the kid and punched him in the face, as he was talking to his friends. The British punk went flying so back that he probably slid about three feet. Christophe said, "Care to talk about my countree one more time? Me faut retourner à la pute qui m'a accouchée." He glared down at the blonde kid and smirked as he saw his handy-work splattered across his face. He gave him a bloody nose._

_"You bloody bastard!" The kid yelled and went to attack Christophe. Christophe grinned and dodged his attack, but he didn't expect the kid to actually be good and the kid kneed him in the gut. _

_Christophe pushed the kid to the lockers and elbowed his gut about three times. The kid punched Christophe in the left cheek and he used his head and bashed it against the kid. The kid was out of it for a few seconds, but that was enough time for Christophe to punch the kid in the face about five times. The kid yelled kind of a weird battle cry before punching Christophe really well, almost making him trip. Christophe tripped the kid and he fell on his back. As soon as that happened, it was evident that Christophe had already won. He kicked and kicked and kicked the kid until the kid started to cough almost violently. When the kid calmed down, the handsome French teen spit on the British kid's face. _

_Christophe then said, "Encule, ju Britsh piece of sheet." _

_The principal didn't come until later and he punished the both of them, mostly Christophe. Christophe was suspended for a week and was grounded for two months (it would have been one, but apparently he insulted God or something)._

After school, I stood near the flag pole waiting, like we used to do for each other before the whole mess happened. I was contemplating the possibility of the ground swallowing me up whole if he didn't show because it had been almost ten minutes yet and I was getting impatient and paranoid. If you haven't noticed, I'm very paranoid.

"So vhat do ju vant to do?" I hear the rugged French man say from behind me. I literally jump about four feet in the air and scream a bunch of profanities. Why does he always have to scare me from behind! He laughs and starts walking ahead of me. I follow him.

"We could, AGH, go to the arcade." I suggested.

He shrugged. "I 'ave no monee." He stated.

"We can hang out by the track." I say, knowing that was our main place to hang out before. In fact, that's where he confessed to me.

"Oui, that sounds good, mon ami." He said.

"Ok." I said, having nothing else to contribute to the conversation.

The thing about being away from a person after so long after such a stupid dramatic event is that you have nothing to say to each other. Actually, you have everything to say to each other, you just won't because you're pride is in the way or you're too embarrassed. So you keep quiet for as much as you can so that nothing slips, and you rethink what you're going to say over and over before you have the courage to actually say something to break the silence, which is rare.

When we reach the track, we sit under the tree in the grass next to it like we always had before. I allow myself to lounge back to the bark of the tree. "So..." He started. "Do ju 'ave any exciteeng news?" He asks.

I think for a moment, and the answer pops up. "My mom is, URK, pregnant." I respond.

He does a double take at me. "Vraiment?" He said it in such a surprised questioning tone that I assumed it meant something of the sort.

"Yeah, I mean, Jesus Christ man! I'm gonna be a, GAH, big brother! I don't know if I can handle that! What if I, EEK, neglect it when my p-parents told me to watch over it and I get it, AGH, killed or something! That's too much pressure!" I scream.

He laughs and says, "Paranoid as always, mon ami."

"Can you blame me! When everything in the world is dangerous and stressing, I have all the, GAH, right to be p-paranoid!" I retort.

After a long silence, he said, "Mon ami, ju know I don't love ju anymore, right?"

I was taken aback and neraly fell from my position. "Wha-what!" I blushed scarlet. Why would he even bring up that subject! Fuck, hearing him say that hurts!

"That's vhy ju've been avoideeng me, no?" He glanced to me with a raised brow.

I couldn't say a word, my tongue unable to move and my voice unable to break out, my face still red.

"Vell, I vant ju to know zat ju don't 'ave to vorry about zat, now. Ju are my ami, nozeeng more and nozeeng less." He began. "So vhy not hang out like old times, no? Life iz too jung to vorree about evereezeeng; thanks to that pussee son ova beetch upstairs in ze clouds."

I just nodded, a bit sad. "S-sure, GAH! Let's hang out like old t-times." I agreed with a coy smile.

"Bonne, mon ami! Let us just reminisce on ze good times, no?" He suggested.

I sighed in defeat. "S-sure thing, Chris. If it's not, t-too much, GAH, pressure." I laughed.

He laughed back, but I could feel mine's was forced.

This was going to be hard, pretending to be friends with him I mean.

**A/N: I bet you figured out that British kid wasn't Pip obviously. The only other choice is obvious, but I won't tell for any poor soul who can't figure it out (may God help you unless you're not a big South Park fan). **

**Christophe said a ton of French jargon, here's what they mean:**

_**Mon ami- My friend**_

_**Gardez mentir à soi-même- Keep lying to yourself**_

_**Au revoir- Goodbye**_

_**Me faut retourner à la pute qui m'a accouchée- Go back to the whore who gave you birth**_

_**Encule- Up the ass**_

_**Vraiment?- Really?**_

_**Ami- Friend**_

_**Bonne- Good**_

**Please tell me I did good! Twophe is so hard to write! So so very hard! QAQ I need to work more on this pairing...**


	13. Chapter 7: Stupid Fatass

Kyman 2:

Stupid Jew! Stupid fucking evil little son of a bitch who is a jersey ginger whore Jew! I'm so pissed I could punch a wall! Fuck my life and all that inhabits it!

Why do I have to live with him! Ugh, not only will his Jewish germs decay everything I own, but I'd have to share a room with him! The apartment only has one room! They did this on purpose! How am I supposed to keep a secret crush hidden if I live with the little evil monster! I hate him!

Yes, you can love someone you hate. They is a very, VERY, thin line between the two.

We were moving our shit into the new apartment. Honestly, when the fucking coach claimed that by next week we would be living together, he really meant by the next day. It was a friday when the fight broke out, so the weekend was dedicated to packing up our shit and moving to the new apartment. Honestly, it's easy for the spoiled Jew because his parents help him and he can hire trucks and shit. Me? I'm the only fucking boy in my family! Although my mother works her ass off (literally) for money, she had grown some balls over the years and decided that she would only send me a limited amount of money while I live there but at least she gave me five hundred dollars to start out. My allowance is $50 every month. Weak! That means I'll actually have to get a job, then again the government pays for the apartment, so it's just food and bills that I'll have to split with the damn Jew.

Look at him, that damn Jew, ride up in the passenger's seat in a giant ass truck. A truck his parents payed for. God damn him! I had to put everything in the car and take like nine trips while the car was filled up. And it's not a van or anything! It's a regular four seated car with a poor excuse for a trunk. The trunk is cool, but when moving, it sucks seeing as it's not big enough for bigger furniture! I had to disasemble my desk and drawers and pile the boxes and containers in a fucking dolly my mother lend me. That's how you spell it right? A dolly? It's that little cart thing that you move things with. The good thing though is that we don't have to worry about the water bill, the apartment covers it. I can shower and wash my clothes without worrying about the price. Electricity's a bitch though.

"Bien, si?" I turned to see a mexican say to my Jew.

"Yeah, thanks. I can carry the furniture and boxes, just let me borrow the cart." Kyle said as he digged in his wallet and payed the mexican.

"Si. Money, gracias. Cart, you can take it, esse." He said in a choppy english. Ugh! Mexican's bug the shit out of me!

"Thanks." And with that, Kyle goes to the back of the truck and takes out a dolly even bigger than mine! Fuck him! He puts in furniture and cramps a box or two in front of it. He turns to see me.

"Fatass." He says in an irritated acknowledgement.

"Spoiled Jew-princess." I spout.

He does a double take. "What!" He furrows his brow in the cute way I adore, but right now I'm seething.

"I've been taking nine trips! You've just had to put everything in a giant truck and be on your merry way." I complain.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't want to start a fight with you and end up expelled. I'll just shut up before I bash your head in the pavement." He says in a monotone voice.

"Whatever, Jew." I spout as I carry my shit off the pavement and into the apartment hallway. Thank the Lord our building is in the first floor. Thank you, God!

After a long day of moving things in, it was almost seven. The truck was gone and the Jew and I were lying in the floor nearly panting and drowning in our own sweat. Boxes all around us.

"Did you title your boxes?" The Jew asked me after a while.

I nodded and said, "Duh."

"Do you want the side with the window or not?" He said.

"Or not." I answered.

"Afraid of the windows, fatass?" He joked.

"Fuck no! I just get cold, pussy!" I yell. Honestly, I am pretty freaked out, but I'll never admit that to the dirty Jew.

"Don't shout, fatass!" He snarls. "You don't want the landlord hearing us." He reminded me.

"Your fault." I say.

We don't say a word because our bones ache and we're sweaty and just plain tired. He gets up first. "I'm going to take a shower."

"With what soap?" I chuckle.

He stops midway. "Fuck!" He yells.

"We need to get to a store and buy shit now. Food for breakfast, soap, shower curtains, dishes, chairs, uh... a coach." I start.

"Does this apartment supply washers and dryers?" He asks.

"Yeah." I answer.

"Great." He sighs in relief. "We need a microwave since none of us can cook." He says.

"Speak for yourself!" I answer.

"You can cook?" He looks at me like it's an entirely shocking notion.

"Of course I can!" I retort.

"I always thought you were too lazy to even move out of the couch." He answered.

"Fuck you, Jew. I'm a pretty damn good cook." I brag.

"Fine, then we need cooking pans." Kyle shrugs.

"I'm hungry." I whine after a long silence.

"Aren't you always?" He snickers.

I'm so tired, I actually ignore that. "Chinese food." I say.

"We can order that before we go to the store and pick it up as we come out." He reasoned.

"City Wok." I say.

"Shitty Wok." He laughs.

I laugh along with him. I grunt as I get up from the floor. "I drive." I say.

We get inside my car and we drive in silence. None of us talking, not only because it's awkward and uncomfortable, but mostly because we are dead tired.

When we reach walmart, Kyle cringes and I chuckle at the action. He has always hated Walmart, but not as much as Stan. Me, I love it. You can get everything you want with little price, what's so wrong in that? We enter the store and move to the house appliance section.

"Those chairs go good with the kitchen cabinets." Kyle comments.

"We should get the table." I suggest.

"Okay." He answers.

For the most part, the conversations are like that. Short and simple and mundane. This has been the longest we've talked without fighting. Secretly, I'm overjoyed. I mean couples who move in together do this type of shopping. I know we aren't a couple, but a guy can have his fantasies, right?

He use a _Walmart_ pushing cart, special for furniture, to move our shit to the car. As we do this in silent, the bruises from our fight yesterday ache and pulsate painfully. I don't want to lift a finger tomorrow and I want to sleep in. I glance at the Jew and see his expression entails the same. The cracked lip I gave him is healing up quiet well, and the swolling on my black eye is still present but receeding. I realized I probably hurt his shoulder too harshly as he hisses softly when we let down the last of our furniture in my trunk.

"Your shoulder looks like it hurts like a bitch." I comment.

"No thanks to you, asshole." He retorts.

"Is it a bruise?" I ask.

"No. I feels like the muscles cramp up whenever I over exert myself." He explains with a grimaced expression.

"Here." I say as I take his shoulders and start to message it.

"What! Stop that!" He squirms. I hold him in place.

"Do you want it to stop hurting or not, Jew?" I retort.

"Why do _you_ even care, fatass! It's your fault anyways!" He complains.

"Shut up, Jew." I say in a tired manner.

He complies and just awkwardly stands behind my car as I message his shoulders. "Did I cause you some damage?" He finally asks.

"What?" I ask confused.

"Well, you fucked up my shoulder. What did I do to you, besides that black eye?" He asks.

"If it fills your ego, I've been getting migranes all day." I say remembering how he bashed my head in the lockers... or was it the floor. I don't even care anymore.

"It doesn't fill my ego!" He defended himself. "It just seems unfair."

"Oh, right. I forgot the Jewish law: 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.'" I joked.

"Asshole." He just said.

"Feel better?" I asked after a while.

He nodded and I stopped. We went in the car and picked up our Chinese food. I drove us home and we both carried the furniture to our apartment and we set it down randomly, too tired to actually give a damn where it was. Kyle took the shower curtains and soap and headed for the bathroom. He stopped midway and turned to me.

"What?" I asked.

"You take a shower first." He insists.

"Why?" I ask, growing suspicious.

"Because if I leave you with the food, it'll be gone by the time I get out." He explained.

"Fuck you, Jew-rat!" I growl.

"I never trusted you fully with food, and after that KFC incident when we were nine, that dim trust was anhialated." He explained with a chuckle.

I rolled my eyes. "I have will power with food, you know! I just lack it with KFC." I seethed.

"I figured," He said, but he handed me the shower curtain and the bar of soap. "But just to be safe."

I rolled my eyes and went to take a shower. When I came out, he went in. Afterwords, we ate Chinese in a comfortable silence. Honestly, I could get used to this, living with him I meant. Sure, it was a bit (a lot) tensed in the beginning, but as the day progressed, it became oddly comfortable. When done we moved our mattresses to the side of the room where we decided to sleep in. No bed frame, just the mattress and a comforter. I never really had a chance to study the way Kyle had slept before. I figured I would doze right off after I layed in bed, but really, it was odd how I was entranced by the Jew.

His hair was faintly wet from the shower and it glistened in the moonlight that shown from outside the window. He slept with his mouth open and it was parted only slightly, exposing a modest peek of his front upper teeth. Frankly, it was sexy, but I tried not to blush even though it was dark and he was asleep. His hands and arms were positioned in a way that I cringed inwardly. How can that even be possibly comfortable? He was an odd sleeper, but the funny thing was that he didn't move his feet (barely) as he slept. It was always his arms. His eyelids fluttered every once and a while, but that was because of REM sleep. He at one point, started to clutch to his blanket and made faces as if he were pissed or annoyed. He would breathe in a shallow manner and grunt almost as if he were fighting without moving. He would make annoyed and defiant pouts and sounds. Sometimes he would mumble curse words and at other times gibberish. Suddenly, I heard my name. It was as I was falling asleep, but hearing that woke me up immediately. He had his brows furrowed and his mouth parted as he clutched his blanket almost furiously. He said my surname once more, and my heart nearly skipped. He said it as if he were fighting me, as if he were daring me. Does he dream about me? Fighting or not, he still dreamt about me.

Part of me wanted to answer back in a fight, the other part of me wanted to crawl to him and kiss his parted lips. I just layed there, waiting for him to say my name again in his sleep. Instead he turned to face his back towards me and muttered, "Stupid fatass" before starting to snore. Surprisingly, he snored softly and it vibrated rather than echoed. Outwardly, I was offended that he would dare call me fat even in his sleep. Inwardly, I was excited that he even included me in his dreams.

Maybe falling asleep to his agrivated and furious sounds as he slept was the way I wanted to fall asleep for the rest my life. Especially if those agrivated and furious sounds were directed to me particularly.

Then again, admitting that aloud would be fucking gay.

**A/N: It feels natural writing Kyman. Like really natural. I love this pairing, so fucking much! I wish I could only write this for the rest of the story, but, alas, there are five other pairings to write about. **

**Also, is it really called a dolly? My mom called it that. Actually most of the move detail was influenced by the fact that I just finished moving last week. My (ex)stepdad (who's a fucking Mexican) didn't help us move. He let all the job to my poor mother who sometimes couldn't sleep from all the physical exertion of carrying boxes and moving furniture (the pain in her muscles would keep her up at night). We did the same thing as Cartman did in this story, use the car and fill it up, then go to the apartment and dump everything there and do the same all over again. It took not a day, but about a month because we had to empty out the other apartment and my mom had no help. I helped her for about four days, but she told me not to because I got sick (the dust and the heat got me sneezing nonestop because I have allergies and weak lungs). But we finished! Finally! All that's left is unpacking the remaining boxes, which aren't that much anymore. At least everything is set. I'm just excited to get rid of my stupid soon-to-be-ex-stepdad. It's funny because he acts more like a woman than a man and he complains that he lost weight because he sweated too much. "That's water, retard. Not fat. You don't loose weight by sweating. And you barely did any physical work, so I bet you didn't loose a pound." is what I feel like saying to him (it's sad that I, a sixteen year old girl, can handle more physical exertion (mind you I'm very weak and scrawny and if I push myself too much I have trouble breathing) than a 40-something year old man). Ah well, there's a God up there and he's getting what's coming to him.**

**Ugh, I just ranted about my life. Ignore that dull explaination and enjoy the Kyman story! :D Kyman for everyone (after the next five chapters of the other pairings). **


End file.
